Three Times, Amen
by MyMidnightLove
Summary: Demyx plays a dangerous game of Russian roulette. Zemyx if you squint, has CharacterDeath. ONESHOT


**So this is part of my amazing January first fanfic dump, and if you haunt the deepest darkest corners of livejournal, then you may have already seen all of these. They're all posted on my fanfiction lj(with hotaru-ai), thatnobodygrrl. Check it out? -- shameless self-promotion. There's all this and much much more out there.**

**Anywhoozles, this is fairly depressing, involving Russian roulette, because somehow I find it amazingly romantic. I think I want to write another one involving Russian roulette, becuase it just inspires me a lot. Anyway, you probably didn't care about that...**

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The wind blows through his hair – still meticulously styled – and it makes the chains on the sides of his pants clink together. They clink against the metal railing he's sitting on so precariously. He looks so beautiful sitting there on that railing. The railing wrapped around his deck, twelve stories above the busy street.

I wonder what he hears out there, smiling so widely. The wind, the cars rushing by, the seemingly perpetual sirens of the city, the cell phones and pagers and mindless chatter of the people walking by. People like him and me, who have never had time before to just sit back and be with each other.

But now we're something else. We're not just normal people like that anymore, we're Demyx and Zexion, the boy with the gun in his hand, and the boy watching him die. Actually, I'm Zexion, the boy who's been _watching_ him die for _weeks_ now, but who was, as ever, too _stupid_ to _see_ it.

He looks exactly the same, but completely different(scrubs). For the first time, I see him the way he really is, with a gorgeous smile on, but one that doesn't really reach his eyes. Never has, never will. Maybe never will again.

He's mouthing some words, and even though I can't hear them, I know what they are. He's still smiling.

_Pray for me?_

The gun in his hand lifts and the barrel's end is pressed right against his head, and I see briefly my own reflection in the glass of the sliding door between us. He locked it from the outside.

His finger's on the trigger, and his thumb's on the clip, and I know what he's going to do, and against my better instinct… I start praying for him. I always have. He's the wonder-child. He's perfect: he's got the looks, he's got the brains, he's got the talent and the charm and the magnetism that just draws people to him. But he's got this one problem, where he always forgets to think about himself.

When I met him, I decided that this boy was worth it. He was worth going the extra mile for, worth praying for, worth worrying for, and worth watching out for. He's the only one who ever needed me.

Somehow, I know that he needs me now, because without me, he wouldn't have the strength to spin that clip and pull that trigger. He wouldn't have the courage to grin that goofy grin at me when the shot exploded blank against the side of his head. It reached his eyes that time, I think. Or maybe it's just the glare off the glass. Who knows.

Spin two, and he looks really hopeful this time. I wonder briefly what I look like… I think I'm crying, but I'm not really sure. And my mouth is moving motor-fast I know, but words aren't coming out. I'm just saying them in my head, Hail Mary's, Our Father's, Anything ending in 'Amen'… He's smiling at me, like always.

Click.

I know I can't hear it, but I do anyway.

I think I'm already picturing him dead and splayed across his nice white plastic lawn chair, and I can already see his dead body falling through the air. It's going to hit the sidewalk below. Double death. Triple, if you count the fact that he was dead before, too.

He speaks again, and maybe he's not even speaking, but I read his lips perfectly, and hear his voice in my head.

_Third time's the charm._

And I speak right back,

_Three times, Amen._

And all I can think is how this third shot will do it, and how this third death is the last one, and how his will be the third ambulance I've heard tonight. Their sirens are different from the police cars' in this city, did you know?

I wonder how many of those were rushing to scenes just like this.

I'm pulling weakly on the handle of the door, because I know it's locked, but I'm never going to stop trying. I'm going to fight until the end, because all I've ever wanted to do is give Demyx everything he ever wanted. But now… I can't give him this. It's probably the one thing in this world he could ask me for that I wouldn't go to the ends of the Earth to achieve.

The thing is, he never asked.

I'm off before I see the shot, and I think he's disappointed in my that I didn't stay, but it's too late to go back, because I've already shot – pardon the pun – out of his apartment, and I'm flying down the stairs, and I can't hear it, but I hear the shot again anyway, and I hear the blood gushing and the bones shattering, and I'm out on the street just in time for the first drop of blood to fall out of the sky and onto my waiting palm, and I'm thinking how he must have waited until I got down here…

His dead hand holds onto the railing for just a second before he falls, but my eyes are closed so I don't actually _see_ it, I just see it. I see him falling, but I don't hear him hit the ground.

I run.

I don't_ hear_ the wind, or the cars rushing by, or the seemingly perpetual sirens of the city, or even the cell phones and pagers and mindless chatter of the people walking by. I only hear my feet hitting the pavement over and over and over again, and my eyes are closed, but I don't _feel_ the people that I run into. All I feel is the wind pushing my back, egging me forward. I don't _see_ where I'm going or where I'm headed, but I see him.

I see Demyx.

We haven't spoken yet, so I find myself contented just to mouth it.

_I love you._

It's sort of funny, really.

_Three times, Amen. Three times, Amen._

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**Review are much welcomed? They feed my soul, make my day, and leave me incredbly happy.**


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